The palace was alive with torchlight when Malion returned. Guards bowed as he passed, their armor clinking in unison, but he barely spared them a glance. The long hallways stretched before him, tapestries fluttering in the draft. He walked them like a man returning to his throne, every step echoing authority.
Waiting inside the grand chamber was a man dressed in deep blue robes, his coffee brown hair tied neatly at the back. His presence radiated sharp intelligence, but the faint shimmer of his crimson eyes betrayed his nature.
"Advisor Theron," Malion greeted, his voice low but laced with familiarity reserved for very few.
The other man bowed with respect, though relief flickered in his gaze. "Your Majesty. I feared you would not return so soon. The court grows restless when the king vanishes without word."
"They should be restless," Malion replied, removing his cloak and tossing it carelessly onto the armrest of his throne. "Restlessness keeps them sharp."
Theron exhaled, clearly used to such answers. He stepped forward, lowering his voice. "I bring news of the Azure Stone, the relic you commanded me to track. Scouts have searched the western border. Rumors say it changed hands, stolen from a merchant caravan."
Malion leaned back, one leg crossing over the other. "Stolen, or sold?"
"Stolen, most likely. But what matters is this — whispers claim it glows only under the blood of its rightful keeper. If the thief realizes that—"
"They won't," Malion cut in, his tone sharp. "The Azure Stone doesn't reveal itself so easily. Only few can command it."
Theron bowed his head. "Then we shall continue the search discreetly."
"Do so," Malion said lazily, flicking his fingers as if dismissing a trivial matter. "Patience yields more than reckless pursuit."
There was a pause. Theron studied his king carefully. Then, with a boldness few dared, he asked, "Forgive me, but… where were you tonight, sire? You never leave the palace unguarded. Not without purpose."
For a long moment, Malion didn't answer. His gaze wandered to the tall windows, where the moonlight spilled across the marble floor. Slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. It wasn't his usual sharp grin, but something quieter, stranger.
Theron's brows rose. "You're smiling."
Malion's eyes flicked back to him, amusement dancing in their depths. "Am I?"
"Yes," Theron said firmly. "And not the smile you wear when cornering dukes. This is different. Dare I ask why?"
Malion stood, his cloak whispering against the stone. "Because…" He took a deliberate step forward, his voice soft but cutting. "I was visiting my wife-to-be."
The words crashed into the chamber like a thunderclap.
Theron's composure cracked, his voice ringing out, sharp and disbelieving: "W-wife-to-be?! Have you lost your senses?"
The echo had barely faded when Malion's smile vanished.
"Careful, Theron." His voice was velvet, but laced with steel. "You forget your place."
Theron's fists clenched at his sides, his fangs flashing as he scowled. "And you forget yours, Majesty. We are not meant to mingle with—" He stopped short, biting back the word.
Malion's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Say it."
"Humans," Theron spat. "We are not meant to chain ourselves to fleeting, fragile lives."
Malion chuckled lowly. "And yet, in their fragility, they burn brighter than any of us ever could."
"Madness," Theron hissed. "You risk the throne itself for this… indulgence."
Malion's gaze sharpened like a blade. "Indulgence?"
The air shifted.
Before Theron could blink, Malion moved. Faster than shadows, faster than thought. His hand closed around Theron's throat and slammed him against the stone pillar. The impact cracked the marble, dust raining down.
Theron snarled, his claws extending. With a burst of strength, he shoved Malion back, his own power flaring. The chamber thundered with the sound of their clash — two predators locked in a dance of dominance.
Malion slid across the floor, boots screeching against stone, but he straightened with a wicked grin. "Good. I was growing bored."
Theron dropped his cloak, his stance lowering into a fighter's readiness. "If I must beat sense into you, so be it."
In a blur, they collided.
Fists struck like hammers, claws slashed, and the floor trembled beneath their battle. Malion's movements were precise, elegant, each strike calculated. Theron fought with raw power, each blow meant to shatter bones. They moved too fast for mortal eyes, shadows streaking against torchlight, fangs bared in primal fury.
Malion dodged a crushing strike, pivoted, and drove his elbow into Theron's ribs. The other vampire grunted but twisted, slamming his knee into Malion's side. The sound of bone cracking filled the chamber — only for it to heal instantly with a sickening snap.
"You're sloppy," Malion taunted, ducking another blow. He caught Theron's wrist, twisted, and flung him across the hall. Theron's body smashed into the throne, splintering its armrest.
Theron wiped blood from his lip, his eyes burning crimson. "And you're reckless."
He lunged again, but this time Malion met him head-on. Their claws locked, their snarls echoing like beasts. For a moment, neither yielded, strength against strength, will against will.
Then Malion's smile returned — dark, victorious.
"You forget, Theron… I am your king."
With a surge of impossible force, Malion flung him backward, sending him crashing into the steps of the dais. Theron groaned, his body healing but his pride stinging sharper than wounds.
Malion straightened his cloak, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Do not mistake my indulgences for weakness."
Theron staggered to his feet, his glare sharp as daggers. Yet behind it flickered respect — and fear.
Malion's eyes gleamed as he descended the steps slowly. He stopped before his advisor, leaning close enough that his words brushed like frost.
"You may challenge me in private, Theron. But you will never question me again."
Theron clenched his jaw but bowed his head at last. "…Yes, Majesty."
Malion smirked. "Good." He turned away, reclaiming his throne, his presence radiating unshakable dominance.
The silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of torches.
Finally, Theron spoke, his voice still edged with disbelief. "But a wife-to-be, Malion? Truly?"
The king leaned back, his fangs glinting faintly in the firelight.
"Yes," he said smoothly. "And the world will soon understand what that means."
Theron blinked. "But… who?"
Malion's smirk deepened, a dangerous promise curling on his lips.
"You'll find out soon enough."
The torches flickered violently, as though even the fire recoiled at his words.